


just a little off the sides

by philindas



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: F/M, Philinda Undercover
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-25
Updated: 2016-08-25
Packaged: 2018-08-10 21:59:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 852
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7862731
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/philindas/pseuds/philindas
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Melinda and Bobbi are undercover at a salon when Melinda ends up with a walk-in.</p>
            </blockquote>





	just a little off the sides

**Author's Note:**

> Super thanks to Ness for the suggestion when I was stuck on the plot (love you girl)! For The Stylist Mission.

There’s a pink streak in her hair, she has way too much eye make up on, and Bobbi keeps grinning at her from across the salon, her own blonde hair dip-dyed blue to bring out her eyes.

“You have to look the part!” Daisy had claimed as she was applying the bleach, and Melinda knew she was going soft at how easily she had caved at the girl’s request to do her hair for the mission, but she was still just so happy she was back after nearly a year. Bobbi had caved easily as well, ending up with dark blue, and Phil had just watched them all in amusement.

“Hey, Steph, you’ve got a walk in,” she looks up at Bobbi’s voice, raising an eyebrow as she pauses cleaning her station- Phil is standing at the counter, dressed in jeans and an old Boston University t-shirt that she knew from experience was soft to the touch from use. The blonde winked at her before she called the next customer up, and Melinda hide her smile as she led Phil to the back of the salon.

“What’s your name, sir?” she asked conversationally as she had Phil sit at one of the sinks, wrapping a cape around him and starting the water.

“Steven,” he replied, and she fights the urge to roll her eyes at his predictability. She tests the water before she runs the sprayer over his head; his eyes slip closed at the warm temperature and when her hands began to massage shampoo into his hair, he hummed in approval. Melinda bit her lip as she continued, scratching behind his ears as she worked the shampoo into a lather.

They’re both a little out of breath by the time she rinses the shampoo out, a slight blush rising to her cheeks as she towel-dries the short strands before leading him to her station.

“So what are you looking for?” she asks, catching his gaze through the mirror. He smiles, the corner of his lip curling up as he looks at her.

“Just a little off the sides, I think,” he answers, and she nodded, pulling a fresh comb from the barbicide.

“Not much to cut,” she replies lightly, ribbing a little, and Phil snorts, face scrunching up in mild amusement. She heard a snort from the station next to hers, and turns to find Bobbi hiding her face behind the curls of the little girl she’s working on.

“An unfortunate inheritance from my maternal grandfather,” he answers as Melinda continues her work. “The pink in your hair is cute.”

Melinda rolls her eyes at that, meeting his gaze in the mirror. “My daughter. She insisted I join the twenty first century hair game.”

Phil’s eyes softened and she quickly turned her focus back to his hair, the backs of her eyes burning briefly. “Do you have any kids?”

“A daughter,” he replies, lips in a soft smile. “She’s a bit like yours, always trying to pull me from the past into the present. I’m a collector.”

“Oh?” Melinda asks, using her hands to tilt his head slightly, fingers lingering on his skin before she flicked on the electric razor. When she’d finished she had him straighten his head as she came around to trim the front, aware of his eyes on her face.

“So, Stephanie, are you free to get a drink later?” he asked, and her gaze dropped to meet his, aware that their noses were inches apart. She raised an eyebrow, lowering her scissors.

“What’s in it for me?” she asked, tone colored in amusement.

“A lot of useless World War II trivia, a really great dive bar, and I’ve been told I am a phenomenal kisser,” he replies- Melinda lets out a laugh at that, unable to help herself as she straights up. She runs her hands through Phil’s hair, smoothing down the wild ends and letting her thumb drag down his cheek, catching on the light stubble there.

“I think you’ve got yourself a date, Steven,” she answers as she takes off his cap, letting him get to his feet. She’s in converse for once and so much shorter than him; heat flashes through her as he squeezes through the space between the chair and the mirror, brushing up against her as she swallows.

“So what time are you out of here?” he asks as she rings him out at the counter, tucking her hair behind her ear, feeling his gaze linger on her.

“Pick me up at 7?” she asks, looking up at him as she hands him his receipt; he grins, fingers lingering on hers as he takes the paper from her.

“I’ll be counting down the hours,” he replies, winking at her as he leaves; she rolls her eyes, but her stomach’s warm as she turns back to her station. Bobbi gives a low wolf whistle that the other girls at the salon join in on until Melinda waves them off, uncharacteristically flushed.

“You so love undercover,” she hears Bobbi whisper, and she can’t really refute her this time.

Damn Phil Coulson charm.


End file.
